


We Met at the Barricade

by Pinepitch



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Modern Era, Sorry Not Sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-09 04:48:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11097219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinepitch/pseuds/Pinepitch
Summary: Enjolras tells Grantaire to knock on his door whenever he's drunk, to stop Musichetta losing business. Obviously stuff happens or we wouldn't have this fic. Also I'm crap at summaries.





	We Met at the Barricade

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TalesInInkAndStars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TalesInInkAndStars/gifts).



The first time, it was an accident. All Enjolras wanted was an evening out, an evening that was quiet, and maybe filled with the dulcet tones of the live music the local bar played every Monday night.

As per usual, The Barricade was fairly empty. No one really had time on a Monday evening to sit and listen to the next ‘up and comers’ of the town. Taking a seat at the bar, Musichetta was immediately upon him, taking his order and whisking away to take as much time as possible perfecting a glass of neat whiskey. By the time she had brought it back, a man had slumped onto the stool next to him, narrowly avoiding toppling off and dragging them both to the floor.

“Grantaire, for heaven’s sake!” Musichetta scolded. “You need to get yourself home.”

“Aww, ‘Chetta, but you like our long evening drives.” Grantaire slurred. “Why don’t I wait until you work off get?” His brow crinkled into the mop of dark curls on his head. “I mean - “

“Seriously, R, you need to get home and get some rest.”

“Fiiiine, I’ll go, I’ll walk, maybe I’ll get hit by a car and be out of your hair forever.” Grantaire moaned, turning large brown puppydog eyes on the woman behind the bar.

“Excellent, I’ll make sure that I cry over the empty chairs at empty tables at your funeral.” Obviously unable to think of a satisfactorily sarcastic response, Grantaire turned and stumbled out of the bar, harrumphing as he went. 

Enjolras watched the whole exchange with a slight grin on his face, but it was dampened a bit when he saw Musichetta’s face. 

“What’s up? Who was that?”

“His name is Grantaire. He’s one of Boussuet and Joly’s baristas at The Musain...but more like an injured bird they’ve taken under their wings. I’m sorry, Enjolras, but I think I’m going to have to close early tonight and make sure he gets home okay. Those two would kill me if anything happened to him.” The woman looked visibly upset at this. Enjolras had grown close to Musichetta after his friend Combeferre, had introduced her as someone sympathetic to the cause. That, and the regular visits he made to The Barricade to suck back whiskey on the worst and most draining evenings. In any case, he didn’t want her to lose an entire night of custom just because some drunk idiot couldn’t get home alone.

“Let me take care of it.” Enjolras said. This surprised even him. As much as he liked his friends, it wasn’t in his nature to offer favours. He was busy, tired, and hardly functioned as it was. Adding the stress of being someone people asked things of wasn’t something he needed on top of that.   
“What, you mean you’ll take R home?” Chetta’s eyebrows rose to unbelievable proportions.

“Uh, yeah.” Enjolras rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. He didn’t think Musichetta would be  _ quite  _ this happy about his offer. The broad smile she was giving him was making him uncomfortable.

“Oh, thank you, thank you so much!” She rushed around the end of the bar to sweep him into a hug. He endured it for a couple of seconds before wriggling out of her grasp and tossing back the rest of his drink.

“Okay, well, I suppose I should get going. He’s probably stumbled a couple of blocks away by now.”

“You’re not driving, are you? You’ve just been drinking!” She scolded.

“First of all, I think you’ll find I am well below the limit, and secondly, I didn’t bring my car, so that’s not an option anyhow. We’ll get a cab or something.” Enjolras waved off her worried look as he headed back out the door.

To his shock, he didn’t even have to look beyond the sidewalk for Grantaire. The man was slumped miserably against the brickwork, head tilted to his chest.

“Um, hey, Grantaire.” Enjolras said awkwardly, while making a mental note to never do anyone a favour ever again.

“Oh. Hey.” He replied miserably.

“So, I kinda told Musichetta I’d get you home.” Enjolras looked down the streets, wishing he’d asked her where Grantaire actually lived before leaving.

“Tha’s nice’ve you.” The man actually managed a glimmer of the cheeky smile he’d given Musichetta earlier.

“Uh huh, so which way is home?” Enjolras said.

“Tha’way.” An arm pointed to the left.   
“Well, let’s go then.” Enjolras put a hand on the other man’s shoulder and helped heave him to full standing. Immediately, the other man fell forward, into him. The sudden proximity of another body was disconcerting to Enjolras, as was the way Grantaire’s eyes met his. More concerning, however, was the man’s inability to stay upright.

“Um, do you think you can walk, or should I call a cab?” 

“Imma walk.” He straightened up, and managed a few steps. “Can’t go home though.” 

“Why?” They had started walking, despite Grantaire’s protests.

“Marius has gotta new one.”

“New one?”

“New girl. Mhmm. A new girl.” From what he had been told, Enjolras figured Marius must be this man’s housemate. And a new girlfriend probably kept him up at night.

Already internally cringing, Enjolras braced himself for another favour.   
“C’mon, you can crash at mine tonight.” He grunted, shuffling forward a few steps. He had gained about four feet before he noticed that the other man wasn’t following. Turning around, the big brown eyes of Grantaire were on him, looking almost suspiciously shiny. Was he going to cry? Enjolras wouldn’t be able to stand it if he cried. Not that he held emotions against people, it was just his absolute and complete inability to deal with them.   
“You sure?” Grantaire slurred.   
“Uh, yes.” Enjolras responded, crossing his arms. “Since I was the one that offered, I’m pretty sure.” He began to walk away again, this time making sure the dark-haired man followed. The silence wasn’t awkward, but it wasn’t quite companionable either, and the more sober of the two found himself staring at the streetlights, wishing the walk was even shorter than the ten minutes it already was.   
“So…” He began, kicking an empty tobacco pack out of his way. “You work at the Musain?”   
“Uh huh.” Grantaire mumbled in response.   
“I’ve, uh, never seen you there.” The Musain was the place you were most likely to find Enjolras et al whenever they were planning a rally. Joly and Bossuet would let them stay there after hours, making coffee at discount prices for their friends. And Enjolras had never seen the dark curls or worried eyes of Grantaire there.   
“I work the morning shifts and I sit at the back when you’re all there…” He trailed off, almost looking forlorn. “Most people don’t notice me, it’s okay.” The blonde visibly blushed at this; part embarrassment, and part annoyance at himself. How had he never noticed him? He thought he knew everyone at their meetings.

Thankfully, the approach of his front door saved him from having to respond. He cleared his throat.   
“This is me.” He said lowly, unlocking the door. He had no idea what to do now. Was he supposed to offer his bed? His couch? He’d never had someone crash at his before.   
“Tha’s gotta be the nicest sofa ever.” Grantaire said, and answered his question by falling straight onto it. Checking to make sure he was breathing, Enjolras tucked a pillow under his head and lay him on his side. He filled a glass with water and put it with a couple ibuprofen on the coffee table. As an afterthought, he put the mop bucket from his kitchen next to the now snoring man, and headed off to his own room.


End file.
